


Demons

by Vagabond



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: M/M, Other, S01E05, Tiny bit of Reid/Drake if you look, man feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant Bennet Drake takes to a bar late one night to sit with his demons. A friend comes to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS UNBETAED. The latest episode and my mood seem to be similar, so I figured I’d write a bit of fic. There is a little bit of implied Drake/Reid if you look for it but really it is just two men having man feelings. Title taken from the song “Demons” by Imagine Dragons (which I listened to on repeat while writing this).

Every time he closed his eyes he saw brains spatter across the wall and it made him feel sick.

So instead of closing his eyes, Sergeant Bennet Drake had decided to forego sleeping in favor of a spot in a shit little bar deep in the heart of Whitechapel. The bar stunk. Even at such a late hour it was crowded with people running from their demons. There was a man a few seats down who was staring blankly at the wall. Behind him he’d chanced a glance at a couple younger fellows feeling up some pretty young girls who were hoping to make some coin. All around him were men like himself as well, tired and broken but avoiding the reprieve they all longed for.

If he could not trust his brothers in arms, who could he trust? Drake found himself recalling the past few days. His Colonel had come swanning back into his life, stronger than ever before. There had been a fire burning deep inside the man and it had been impossible not to get caught up in it. No one understood the demons Drake faced like a man who had faced them too. It was a relief to be understood, however short-lived it was.

_Faulkner had looked at him with certainty in his eyes._

_“I want you to do it.” He’d said, nodding. There was something in the way he was standing that screamed he was ready to die._

_“No.” Drake had replied._

_“Do it!” Faulkner had shouted in a tone of voice that was all too familiar. Drake’s trigger finger had twitched, trying to respond to the Colonel’s order as his resolve crumbled._

_“An order, Sergeant!” Faulkner had growled as he shoved his neck against the barrel of the gun Drake was holding in trembling hands. Only the sound of their heavy breathing followed as Drake’s internal conflict raged on within him._

_“I am not your sergeant anymore.” Finally he’d found his voice._

“Lot of good it did.” Drake mumbled miserably into his whiskey. Moments later Reid had appeared and Drake had watched his Colonel blow his brains out. If he was not Faulkner’s sergeant, then who was he? Certainly not Reid’s friend, as the man often treated him more like a dog than an equal. He sure as hell wasn’t Jackson’s anything; he could barely stand the Yankee. _Though maybe that’s ‘cause he is everything I cannot be._ That thought drove him to down the rest of his whiskey. The liquor burned down his throat and its warm fingers spread through his chest and belly. Drake slammed down the glass and motioned to the bartender for another.

As his glass was filled once more, Drake’s thoughts drifted along guided by the alcohol. He indulged in another swig of whiskey. _I am a soldier without a cause._ The flashbacks were lurking on the edge of his consciousness, threatening to overtake him again. Drake thought he’d grown use to the night terrors. The dreams were his nightly companions, but their emergence into his daily life was distressing. _They keep me from doin’ my job. If I lose this, what do I have?_ He’d have his little flat as long as he could keep it, but soon enough he’d be out on the street like his other war torn brothers. _I need to get it together._ Drake pushed away the unfinished whiskey and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Couldn’t sleep?” The voice made his stomach drop and it took every ounce of will to turn and meet Reid’s eyes. Immediately he stood and just as immediately he stumbled and had to grab the edge of the bar to keep his balance. His head was swimming.

“No, sir, I mean. Yes. Sir.” Drake nearly jumped out of his skin when Reid’s hand rested firmly on his arm to keep him from falling over. “Could not sleep.” He rasped out, feeling like a fool. Yet when he looked Reid in the eye he saw nothing but compassion.

“I know what that is like, Sergeant.” Reid’s smile was not unkind as he picked up the discarded whiskey glass and knocked back what remained. “Will you come with me, Sergeant? I do not think there is much left for you here.”

“Aye.” Drake wasn’t even sure if he could walk, but the prospect of getting out of the bar was suddenly a very pleasant one. He took a hesitant step away from the bar and found sure footing, but he was not so fortunate in the next step. The sergeant stumbled and Reid caught him with an arm about his waist. Next Drake knew he was leaning heavily into Reid’s side as they exited the bar and were greeted with the cold night air.

“You can hardly keep yourself upright.” Reid murmured as Drake tried to pull away and steady himself. It was all for naught, as his head spun and he was pressed into Reid’s side once more. For all he felt a fool, there was a small part of him that relished the warm, firm body beside him.

“Sorry, sir.” His apology was genuine. He’d been a fool to get drunk. Usually he exercised better judgment than this. _How did Reid find me, anyway?_ Drake wanted to ask the question but Reid broke the silence first.

“I am sorry for how I’ve behaved.” The inspector’s voice seemed strained, as if the apology were difficult for him. Drake didn’t know what to make of that. “I…” Reid hesitated as he led Drake to a cluster of barrels sitting outside of a shop, “I’m afraid I do not know what else to say.” He pushed the sergeant down onto the barrel and sat on the one beside him.

“Y’got nothin’ to apologize for, sir.” Drake offered a weary and self-deprecating smile. “I made myself look a fool, I know. I don’t know what got into me, sir. There are things…” He stopped when he felt Reid’s hand on his shoulder, “Sir?”

“We all have demons, sergeant.” Reid’s voice was strangely quiet and it was unsettling. “We all deal with those demons in different ways.” The way his inspector’s eyebrows furrowed made Drake’s fingers twitch with the desire to smooth away the distress. _That’s a drunk man’s thoughts_ , he told himself and kept his hand down at his side.

“Sometimes I forget, however, that you are not impervious to your demons.” Reid continued with a sad laugh and a shake of his head. “You are a strong man. You make me forget that there is a broken person underneath, just like the rest of us in this god forsaken world.”

A relaxed silence then passed between them, Reid’s fingers tightening their hold on Drake’s shoulder just slightly. Then those fingers slid down his arm and to his forearm where rolled up sleeves revealed the Egyptian tattoo. The touch drew a shiver and a sharp intake of breath, though Reid seemed nonplussed as he drew his fingertips over it. Then it was gone and Drake found himself wanting.

“You’re not alone, sergeant.” Reid stared awkwardly ahead, mouth set in a line. “Don’t for a minute believe you are.”

The two men then sat in silence with their demons, together.


End file.
